


The Spirits Before Us

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: EnjonineWeek, EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, Folklore, day 7: generations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: It's a liminal time of year, one Enjolras has grown up knowing, and all is not as it seems on such occasions.





	The Spirits Before Us

“Be careful on your walk, dears,” his mother says as he and Eponine prepare to head out into the early evening streets of Edinburgh. “The _aos sí_ will be out today.”

“Nainsí!” his father chides from his seat by the hearth. Later, Enjolras knows the hearth will be doused, and replaced with a remnant of the bonfire held upon Calton Hill.

His mother turns to give her husband a look of annoyance. “I’m more-so warning the girl; Micheil knows better.”

“I’ll keep watch, Mother,” Enjolras says, offering a reassuring smile. “The lanterns will deter the evil spirits all throughout town, I’m sure.”

Nainsí nods, and the young pair head out the door holding hands. As the door closes behind then, Eponine asks a lingering question.

“The _aos sí_?”

“Spirits, faeries,” Enjolras replies. “This is a liminal time of year, meaning it’s easier for them to pass through from the Otherworld. Today, Samhain, is one of them. Beltane is another.”

Eponine nods, though her brow is furrowed. “And your mother, she’s fearful of these spirits?”

“The evil ones, yes, but it’s said the spirits of lost loved ones return for a short time, too.” He gazes upon the path ahead, noting the few lanterns cut from turnips on windowsills and doorsteps, as well as the children guising door-to-door. “That’s why my mother set aside a few extra spots at the table.”

“I was wondering about that,” she replies, a small smile on her lips. “Your mother keeps up much of her family’s traditions, doesn’t she?”

“Very much so,” Enjolras answers, amused. “More than any of my father’s French customs, to be sure.”

“Must be interesting, growing up like that, but must have certainly allowed the opportunity for diversity.”

“Indeed,” he says. “I think my father believes much of these traditions peculiar, compared to his upbringing, but nonetheless is willing to partake in the activities my mother has taught him over the years.”

Eponine glances around, and Enjolras notes how the flickering candles reflect in her eyes as they pass lanterns, how her dark brunette hair resembles dying embers as they walk under streetlamps.

In the midst of this, he takes notice of a pair of figures standing in the village square. A man, dressed in an old red tailcoat, whose blue eyes meet his own. His partner beside him, a young woman, dressed in rags, leans against his shoulder, smiling fondly. He finds something eerily familiar about them, as if part of a past he knows nothing of.

By the time he turns to point them out to Eponine, they’ve vanished.

“Are you all right, Micheil?” she asks, touching his shoulder.

He blinks a few times, looking back to see if their presence returns, only for them not to appear.

He turns back to meet Eponine’s concerned expression. “Yes, I’m fine. I must have…_Ce n’est rien_.”


End file.
